Chapter 2

Aramis doused his face with water, hoping it would clear his head. He had slept restlessly, tossing and turning due to the unrelenting ache in his side and head as well as the pain in his heart. The absence of his friends weighed heavily upon him, and he could find no solace in sleep as long as their fate remained unknown. He had woken in a cold sweat hours ago, unwilling to return to sleep for fear of seeing their bloody, still bodies in his dreams. He had already lived through one nightmare of loss in Savoy, he doubted he would be able to survive a second.

No. They were alive. He had no idea why he knew this; his memories of what had transpired since their departure no more clear now than they were before, but something inside told him they would not abandon him to this fate. Not again. Perhaps it was simply an inability to accept reality, or a desire to believe God could not be so cruel, but whatever the reason, he refused to give up on his brothers.

He scooped up a handful of water and cupped the back of his neck, letting the cool liquid trickle down his sweat soaked skin. He'd abandoned his shirt when he'd laid down to sleep, and the cool air on his wet hide made him shiver. Bringing another handful of water to his lips, he sipped the liquid slowly, letting it linger on his tongue and trickle down his throat, landing heavily in his empty stomach. He'd been unable to eat the stew Serge had brought to him last night; the bowl still sat on the table, the sustenance inside it cold and congealed.

He had promised the Captain he would eat and rest – neither of which he'd been able to accomplish – but he refused to be left behind. He knew he was in poor condition to ride, but if there was even a small chance his memories would return, he knew he had to be close enough to act upon them. If his friends were in need of his assistance, there was nothing short of death that would keep him from offering it.

Treville understood. Aramis had seen it in his eyes when he'd relented the evening before. If the Captain had insisted he stay behind, Aramis would have simply waited and set out on his own, even if it meant defying a direct order. He was a good soldier – nobody could dispute that fact – but he'd learned the hard way that his friends meant more to him than his commission. He may be less than fit, but he would not fail his mission to find them.

The morning sun slowly crept above the horizon, casting a dim orange light through the open window of the room. Squinting into the light, he found his headache had abated slightly, leaving a dull, pulsing ache where the sharp pain had stabbed previously. He'd had many blows to he head before and knew what to expect; moments of dizziness and pain that would tap his strength and resolve, but he would not – could not – let that deter him from what he needed to do.

A soft knock on the door forced him to straighten and he grabbed for his shirt and doublet belt as he crossed the room. His weapons had been removed before he had regained consciousness, and he would have to inquire as to their location. Upon opening the door, that question was answered. Treville stood just outside, Aramis' sword and pistols in hand, his eyes raking the younger man's form, assessing, obviously finding the sight wanting.

"Did you get any sleep at all?" He held out the weapons belt with an air of reluctance. Aramis pretended not to notice.

Accepting the belt even as he struggled into his doublet, he shrugged and squeezed past the Captain into the courtyard. "Enough."

"I doubt that," the officer mumbled as he placed his hat on his head and followed Aramis to the stable. Their horses stood saddled and ready, provisions packed into saddlebags for their journey.

Aramis pulled himself up into the saddle, squeezing his lids shut as the world took a precarious tilt for a moment. Breathing through his nose, he forced himself to remain still until the pain in his side eased and the unease in his stomach relented. Cautiously he opened his eyes to find Treville mounted beside him, watching him closely.

"I'm fine," he insisted, knowing the Captain would not be fooled.

Treville simply sighed and nodded. "We'll take it slow. Don't be a fool, Aramis. Let me know if you need to stop."

Aramis gave him a grateful smile as they pointed their mounts toward the main gates of the garrison.

Mmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm

The morning was warm, a slight breeze ruffling the curls that escaped below the brim of his hat. Though the ache in his side had dulled, it kept him from relaxing in the saddle, mindful of the stitches that knitted his flesh together. He could feel them pulling uncomfortably and did his best to ignore it, concentrating instead on the countryside beyond the road they were traversing, keeping the reason that had necessitated their journey forefront in his mind.

He swallowed hard against the dryness of his throat, wishing he could reach down for his waterskin, but dreading the inevitable flair of pain the motion would cause. A quick glance toward Treville showed the Captain lost in his own thoughts, and Aramis shifted, wincing as the tender flesh on his side stretched. He took a deep breath through his nose and clamped down on the pain, careful not to show any sign of discomfort on his face. He knew Treville, despite outward appearances, was looking for any indication of weakness, ready and willing to point out the folly of Aramis' accompanying him, and steeled himself against giving him any reason to call a halt to the mission.

He was not fit for duty – he knew it and he knew the Captain was aware of it as well. He should be back at the garrison, resting, awaiting word on the fate of his friends, but he'd never been one to sit idle while those he cared about were in danger. The gaps in his memory were disconcerting to say the least, but the fissure in his heart caused the more serious anguish.

He'd always thought his behavior of disregarding his pain in favor of those more in need a bit heroic – though Athos had on occasion called it reckless. But reckless or not, he would not turn back until he'd learned what had happened to his friends and why they had not returned with him. He smiled, knowing his old friends would chide him for his lack of self-preservation….

… "Take Aramis for instance." Athos tilted his chin toward the Musketeer who rode directly in front of him. "His self-preservation instincts could use some work."

They'd been riding for most of the day, having set off mid-morning on a mission for the Cardinal. Richelieu had been rather vague about the package they were supposed to retrieve from the ´Abbé at La Trinitie at Vendôme, except to say it was a book that was considered a treasure to the Church. Treville had not seen why it would take four armed, well-trained Musketeers to transport one book, but the Cardinal had been insistent it was of the utmost importance and the Captain had relented, sending his four most trusted men to retrieve it.

The day was quite pleasant, the green grass of the rolling hills stretching before them bowing in the wind like emerald waves. With little else to pass the time except conversation, Athos had taken the opportunity to impart his wisdom upon their newest recruit on how to properly conduct himself as member of the King's elite guard. How the conversation had taken a turn toward the certain acts performed by one of the other members of the King's guard was something Aramis could not immediately deduce.

The marksman turned in his saddle, leveling an innocent grin at his companion. "I like to think of myself as selfless rather than oblivious."

Athos nodded, accepting. "Yet both leaned toward unwarranted recklessness."

Aramis placed a hand over his heart dramatically. "Me? Reckless? I'm sure you jest, dear Athos. You must consider your words or our young d'Artagnan may get the wrong impression of a Musketeer's heroics."

"It is the folly of that very thing I am endeavoring to impress upon him."

Aramis laughed easily, the banter helping to make the journey more pleasant, keeping their spirits high. They rode along at a leisurely pace, knowing they need not be on guard until after they had retrieved the Cardinal's precious book.

"The lad could do worse than emulate me." He turned toward d'Artagnan and winked. "I have been told I'm quite charming."

D'Artagnan chuckled and Porthos shook his head in fond exasperation. "You're also quite mad," the big man offered with a grin. "And Athos is right, you do tend to be a bit reckless. No one in their right mind would consider falling on top of a bomb heroic or charming."

"I was trying to save the Queen," Aramis explained petulantly. "It is my privilege and duty to die for the crown."

"Porthos does have a point," d'Artagnan interjected. "While it was brave, you can hardly be expected to be of service to the Queen or King with half of your limbs blown to pieces."

Porthos laughed aloud. "See? Even the whelp can see it was a stupid thing to do."

"Point taken," Aramis conceded. He turned to Porthos, his eyes bright, his hand toying with the jeweled cross around his neck – a gift from the Queen for saving her life. "But I do believe I left a favorable impression upon Her Majesty."

"It was still stupid," Porthos pointed out, undeterred by the golden talisman.

Aramis grinned. "Yet here I sit in one glorious, handsome piece, none the worse for my gallantry."

"Lucky if you ask me."

Chuckling at his friend's continued discontent, Aramis shifted in the saddle, letting his eyes roam the countryside before them. "Luck is a lady I am quite intimate with, my friend."

"Which brings us to another point of conduct," Athos said dryly.

At Aramis' frown, d'Artagnan smiled at the marksman. "You do seem to be intimate with quite a few ladies." He had not been with them for long, but he had heard stories of Aramis' conquests. Though the other Musketeers often speculated on the rumors of his many liaisons with the women of Paris, Aramis was hardly the type to kiss and tell.

"A gentleman does not discuss such things, d'Artagnan." A smile lifted the corners of his lips. "Pay no heed to the jealous words of our companions, but keep in mind I have had few complaints concerning my conduct from any of the fairer sex."

"No, but their husbands have 'ad a few things to say." Porthos chuckled. "You take better care of your weapons than you do your own skin."

"A good Musketeer always keeps his weapons in sufficient working order," the marksman said with a cheeky grin. He patted the munitions pouch attached to his belt. "Rest assured, all I need is secured here to keep my skin and the rest of me quite attractive to all the lovely women of France."

Porthos rolled his eyes and Athos added a grunt of amusement at the marksman's declaration.

After a few moments of comfortable silence, d'Artagnan voiced a question that had been on all their minds ever since they'd been assigned the mission.

"What do you think is so important about this book we've been sent to retrieve?"

Porthos and Athos exchanged a shrug before turning to Aramis, their unofficial expert in all things religious.

"I have no idea," the Spaniard shook his head. "There are many texts considered sacred works of art, but none that I can recall being so treasured as to pique the Cardinal's interest. Besides, I hardly think Rome would allow anything so important to end up in the Cardinal's hands."

"You think this is some kind of ruse?"

Aramis shrugged, his lips pursing as he considered d'Artagnan's question. "Perhaps. Or another of the Cardinal's underhanded schemes, but who knows what goes on in the dark, evil depths of Richelieu's mind?"

At the marksman's sharp tone, Athos raised his brows. Though none of them held Richelieu in high esteem, it was rare for any of them to show their disdain so openly.

When it was obvious no explanation was forthcoming, Athos' eyes shifted to Porthos who shrugged, his voice low as he responded to the silent inquiry.

"Adele has left Paris for the Cardinal's country estate." His gaze moved to Aramis as he explained. "Left word with a maid. Didn't bother to say goodbye."

"Ah," Athos grunted in understanding. "There truly is no accounting for taste."

Aramis turned, gifting him with a small smile of gratitude. "It is hard to believe the Cardinal to be anyone's taste."

"Who's Adele?" The young Gascon's curiosity got the better of him.

"The Cardinal's mistress," Athos responded. "And Aramis' love."

D'Artagnan whistled long and low. "You were sleeping with the Cardinal's mistress?"

"Alas," Aramis sighed. "I loved and lost. It is a rare occurrence, but it does happen."

"I'm sure you will recover."

Aramis turned enough to give Athos a sad grin. "Without question, my friend. Time does heal all wounds. Though losing to the Cardinal is hardly something I will brag about."

"That's got to be a blow to the ego," Porthos attempted to hide his amusement, but failed miserably.

Aramis blatantly ignored him.

"Maybe she just prefers older men," d'Artagnan offered helpfully. "Much, much older…"

Aramis laughed, grateful for his friends' attempts to bolster his ego and raise his spirits. "I hope she will be happy in her decision – though I must admit I am at a loss to understand how."

"Maybe this mission was an attempt to get you as far from Adele as possible?"

Aramis considered the idea, but dismissed it quickly. "No, Richelieu had no knowledge of our… relationship. And he could hardly insist on Treville sending out specific Musketeers for mission without raising questions." He shook his head. "It is a simple twist of fate, my young friend, that we are sent on this mission for the Cardinal. Whatever we may encounter along our journey, I have no doubt, the Cardinal is quite ignorant of what has transpired between the lovely Adele and I…"

"Aramis!"

He blinked as the call of his name penetrated his thoughts. From the tone of Treville's voice, it wasn't the first time he had tried to get the younger man's attention.

"Apologies, Captain," he said, blinking rapidly to clear the sudden spots from his vision. He swayed and grabbed for the pommel of his saddle, realizing they were no longer moving, the horses standing still upon the road.

"Aramis?"

"I'm fine," he said automatically, wincing as the words left his mouth. "Perhaps not fine," he amended before Treville could dispute the claim. "But I am quite able to continue."

He took a deep breath through his nose and released it slowly, before shifting his eyes up to meet the Captain's.

"I called to you many times," Treville explained, a tinge of trepidation in his voice. "You seemed to be… lost. Did you recall something about the mission?"

Aramis nodded slowly, his eyes losing focus as he responded. "I remembered being on this very road – the four of us. We were…;" he smiled, "attempting to teach young d'Artagnan of proper behavior for a King's Musketeer."

Treville scoffed aloud. "That would seem… unfortunate."

Aramis' brows rose in confusion. "Sir?"

"The three of you trying to teach the lad how to behave. Seems a bit of a stretch, wouldn't you agree?"

Aramis snorted a laugh. "It was mostly Athos providing the lesson. I believe as long as d'Artagnan didn't follow him into a tavern, the lesson should have merit."

Treville grunted his agreement, his eyes raking the younger man's hunched form. "Your head is bothering you?"

Aramis nodded. "Is it so apparent? I thought I was hiding it rather well."

"I am more astute than any of you give me credit for," Treville countered, ignoring the Musketeer's expression of discomfiture. "There is an inn a few leagues beyond the woodlands," he motioned in the direction they were traveling. "Just south of Chartres. We will stop there to rest and get something to eat." His tone left no room for argument and Aramis humbly nodded in agreement. He loathed the thought of any kind of delay in their quest to find his friends, but he knew the Captain was doing what he must to walk the fine line between responsibility to the missing men and concern for the one still by his side. It was a difficult position and Aramis would not allow himself to make the Captain's task any more complicated than it already was. Besides, as the ache in his head and side reminded him, a few moments rest would be more than welcome.

TBC